


Whom I truly and most tenderly love.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: And angst, Fluff, M/M, Wow, and a lil humour, and picnics, historical fic, idek, they are too adorable.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7245370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn't die cause, I am totally in denial about that. What would have happened if Eliza had been a little less forgiving. This is probably full of historical inaccuracies but oh well, ce'est la vie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whom I truly and most tenderly love.

“Get out.”

 

“Eliza-“

 

“Get out.”

 

Alex looked at his bags, they were laid out in the hall in neat lines. His eyes almost welled up, his pamphlet was on the oak side table. A candle was burning down to the wick, the wax dripping over the side on to the floor. 

 

“There’s a carriage outside, I took the liberty of booking you passage to South Carolina,” Eliza walked upstairs, her heels clicking on the stone, he heard a door slam. 

 

“Pops?”

 

“Go to bed Phillip,” Alex looked up at the small voice that echoed down from the gallery. 

 

“Are you leaving? Where are you going?” When will I see you again?”

 

“I’m going to stay with John Laurens for a few weeks maybe, I don’t know how long,” Alex stared at his feet.

 

“Laurens? That man who nearly died?”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“Where?”

 

“He has an estate in South Carolina, go to bed son.” 

 

“Yes, Pops,” Phillip got up, his head disappearing from in between the balustrades. 

 

Alexander signalled the footman to pack his bags in to the carriage as he hoisted himself up into the slightly moth eaten seat. He turned round to watch the house fade from view in the grubby rear window.

 

The carriage pulled up at the dockside, Alexander dropped out, his shoes crunching on the uneven ground. The ship, was anchored, it swayed slightly in the wind; it was the end of summer and the planters were leaving New York to return to the plantations so there were lots of ships leaving for South Carolina. He craned his head up to look at the crow’s nest, perched precariously atop the mast. The boat was a hulking figure in the late night mist, looming out of the gloom with a strange finality about it. Painted across the side were the words _La Victoria,_ Alex didn't know whether that was a good sign or not. 

 

The gangplank rocked with the water; Alex nearly fell as he tottered up it, bags in hand. The sailor at the top grabbed on bag and scanned his eyes across a sheet of paper.

 

“Hamilton,” Alex said.

 

“I know your name Mr Hamilton, sir,” he chuckled, “that was quite a way to announce an affair.”

 

Alexander rolled his eyes and gestured for the man to show him to his cabin. Eliza had spared no expense, not with his money. He dropped his bags on the bed and went to the table in the corner of the room, looking out onto the docks through the small window afforded to him. A candle was already burning, he picked up a pen and pulled out some sheets of paper he’d wedged in his bag. He wrote, the scratching sounds brining him back from the brink of mental obliteration. 

The sun rose, slowly in its inevitable journey, casting a pink glow on the water. Some bread and cheese had been left on the table by the door. It would take a week to get to South Carolina, though less than a day to get from the port to John’s estate. Alex had written to his friend to announce his possible need for somewhere to stay, John had been more than willing to accommodate him. 

 

***

It was raining, Alex had chosen to ride the way from the port to the estate, it had been dry when they docked. Though now there was a veritable deluge soaking him to the bone, his clothes stuck to his skin; there was little to no barrier between him and the outside world now. He sighed, his thighs ached as the horses galloped along the lane up to Laurens’ house. 

 

John was standing on the porch, on the second floor, watching as the rain fell in rivers down from the gutters. He looked directly at Alex before shaking his head and walking inside. Alex had a fleeting thought that John wouldn't want to see him, that he was disgusted with him as Angelica had been. His brain filled with anxiety, swirling around in a maelstrom of emotion, his hands shook as they gripped tightly to the reins. He sped the horse on through the gate and up the drive to the house.

 

“My Alexander,” John said from the front porch, he was leaning against the railings, he wasn’t wearing boots. “It is good to see you,” he smiled.

 

“John,” a word, a name, and yet in that monosyllabic phrase Alex felt like he had come home.

 

“Are you okay? Your letter didn’t explain why-“

 

“Eliza kicked me out,” his face crumpled in on itself, his hands refused to cooperate, someone took the reins from him and led his horse to the stables.

 

“Oh, shit,” John stood at the top of the stairs, still protected from the rain by the overhang, “Come here,” he said.

 

“Did you read it?” Alexander looked up as best he could, what with the rain. 

 

“Read what?”

 

“The pamphlet, I know most of New York has read it but I don’t know if it was distributed down here.”

 

“No, I can’t say I read any pamphlet,” John drawled, his words lilting together.

 

“Oh uh,” Alex fidgeted.

 

“Come out of the rain, man, you’ll catch a chill,” John could be awfully british sometimes, “I’ll have someone make you a hot drink, while we sit in the parlour and work through this mess you’ve got yourself into.”

 

John’s house was plainly decorated, with wood floors and white walls, covered in pictures of his family. John had a large family, with lots of brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. The parlour had windows that looked out on to the land that backed the property, the wide expanse of rolling southern fields dominated the view. The rain clattered against the windows, slamming them against their frames.

 

“Sorry about the weather, though I think eye of the storm should be coming soon, I’ll show you ‘round then,” John sat in a chair by the roaring fire, he gestured to the other one. “Now, my Alexander, tell me what you did to Eliza that made her kick you out?”

 

“I- I guess I just flew too close to the sun, I pushed too hard,” Alex took the proffered chair, and sat down heavily, his body slumping against the back rest. 

 

“I’m afraid that doesn’t quite cut it, Alex, you’re going to have explain,” John smiled, small and sweet, his lips barely curling upwards at all; if Alex hadn’t been staring at him, if Alex hadn’t known him so well he’d never have caught it. 

 

“I cheated, John, God I cheated on Eliza,” Hamilton dropped his head in to his hands, longs fingers rubbing at the bags under his eyes.

 

John Laurens, for the first time in his life, was utterly speechless. There were no words that could fully describe his shock at the words that tumbled out of Alex’s mouth. John froze, completely still, tense; his muscles clenched, hand paused mid movement. 

 

“You-“

 

“I- yeah.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Alex breathed out a shaky laugh, though it didn't sound sincere, “shit.” 

 

“Do you want me,” John took a breath, air filling his lungs; finally his hands caught up with his brain, “Do you want me to show you to your room?”

 

“Uh, that would be a kindness, thank you,” Alex wasn't quite sure what he expected from John, though this easy, steady support does not come as a surprise. 

 

Upstairs was much like downstairs, plain but comfortable, with pictures littering the walls.They stopped in front of an old oak door, it creaked slightly as it opened. The walls of the room were a pale duck egg blue, white panelling covered the lower half. A four poster bed took up much of the space, red hangings covering the red sheets. White pillows arranged carefully in neat lines against the headboard, took up almost half the bed. The bed itself was made of a dark wood, it instantly drew and held the eye. Light streamed in from two large sash windows, it had almost stopped raining, the sun was peaking through the grey clouds; weak gold rays lighting the room. A fire crackled in the grate, though now there would be little need of it, it was an extravagance that John could surely afford, the tannic scent of woodsmoke was comforting. A rug covered most of the wood floor, Alex’s shoes didn’t click as he walked across to the windows. 

 

“Most of it’s mine,” John gestured to the hills and rolling fields of green.

 

“You should show me around, it’s only polite,” Alex slowly, but surely found himself slipping into easy banter with John. He could almost feel some of the tension, built up over the last few days, leave his body. He relaxed into the ebb and flow of conversation.

 

“Oh is it, good sir, then you must accompany me on a walk. I was planning to check on some of the barns around the property tomorrow, if that would suit you?” John put on his most English accent and bowed.

 

“Did you actually just bow to me?” Alex laughed. 

 

“You bet I did, I’m just being a good host, Alexander, you ought to try being polite sometime,” John winked, “I’ll leave you till supper, no doubt you’ll want to freshen up after your trip.”

 

“John,” Alex laid a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Yeah?” John turned as he made to leave.

 

“Thank you,” Alexander looked into his best friend’s eyes, smiling slightly.

 

“Any time,” John grinned and ducked out of the door. 

***

 

It wasn't everyday that John Laurens didn't know what to do with himself. Most of the time it was easy to sit down and write, he’d been working on finishing the essay set against slavery he and Hamilton had started, and yet now he found he couldn’t. He walked from one side of his office to the other. Then back again. Then to the window, where he looked out at the slave free land. He could see, in his mind’s eye, Alex sitting under a tree, at home amongst the dappled light and leaves. There had been a time, not so long ago, that John had hated the rolling hills and forests of South Carolina, he’d hated the idea that people were being forced to work for nothing; kept in brutal conditions. Yet, he couldn't focus on that, all he could think about was the way Alexander’s hair had fallen in front of his eyes, heavy and dark with water. He could only picture the way Alex’s cheeks had been flushed from the unseasonal chill, red dusting along his cheekbones, coursing along the pale column of neck exposed above his cravat. He could still see the way his shirt had clung to his body, exposing the long lines and planes of his chest and stomach. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how scared he was, John could not stop thinking about his best friend. 

 

They’d fought in the trenches together, muddy, cold and so alone. They’d always been close, from the moment they’d first met, they’d had an easy kind of camaraderie a flow and ebb to their conversation. From the minute they met in that bar in New York they had fallen into a close friendship; though John was struck with the realisation that One did not think about their friends this way, no matter how close they were. He paced again shoes clicking on the wood floor. He sat heavily, chair creaking, he shook he sleeves so he didn't get ink on the white cuffs. He picked up his quill and wrote. He could feel the emotions rising in him. 

 

A bell tolled, supper was ready. He walked to Alex’s room, the man was standing in the door.

 

“Supper?”

 

“Yes, my dear Hamilton, supper,” John smiled and almost held out his arm, he stopped himself though.

 

“I thought you had no slaves,” Hamilton raised an eyebrow.

 

“I don’t, all my staff are paid and they can leave whenever they want,” John smiled and gestured into the dining room. 

 

The dining room followed the theme of the rest of the house, simple and nice with wood floors and yellow walls. The table was oak, imposing and laden with food. White, china bowls held stew; fluffy white bread sat on a board in the middle. Candles lit the room in a soft glow, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange tint on the walls. The windows in this room were practically floor to ceiling, the shutters weren't closed and the view over the countryside was uninterrupted, from this angle Joh could see his favourite part of his land, two streams that came together near the bottom of a gently curving hillside. 

 

“How are you Alexander?” He said, looking at Hamilton over his stew.

 

“I- I guess I’m still in shock. She kicked me out, John, and I don’t blame her. She had every right, I brought that girl in to our world; into our bed. I am an irredeemable disgrace of a husband,” Alex smiled, a small, sad smile. 

 

“You’re a good man, I truly believe that. You made a mistake-“

 

“I fucked someone else’s wife! How can you still think me a good man? How can you have so much faith in me?”

 

“I fought with you, I almost died for you, I think I am not such a terrible judge of another man’s character so as to make such a mistake,” John leaned forward in his seat; his eyes, open with an almost childish trust, shone brightly in the soft candlelight. 

 

“I- You are too good to me, my dear, dear Laurens,” Alex looked at the other man, his brown eyes ghosting over his dearest friend’s features, committing them to his memory. 

 

“You would do the same for me, I hope,” Laurens waved a dismissing hand in front of his face. 

 

“I would,” Alexander spoke as though it was a given fact. 

 

The two men ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence, enjoying spending time together that was not punctuated by gunshot or battle cry. The ghosts of what they had said and done in the past echoed between them, invisible but tangible. The war and the trenches accompanied both men everywhere they went, everything they did was marred by the ghosts of guns and ships. Phantom emotions, shades of actions were present, flitting between them. Fantasies and emotions passed from one to the other, each feeling much the same thing, each not wanting to make these feelings known. 

 

“Hamilton, I have been meaning to ask you, would you care for a game of chess?” Laurens grinned, as he put down his spoon and stood.

 

They moved to a room just off the side of the dining room, one that Alex hadn't seen earlier. This room was panelled in dark oak, to the middle of the wall. It had a large card table in the middle; with a smaller chess table off to the side. The shutters that covered the windows were shut; the only light came from an oil lamp that sat on a side board. 

 

Laurens sat in the chair facing the windows, from drawer under the table he pulled out the black army. Hamilton grinned.

 

“Somethings never change, my friend, do they?”

 

“Indeed not, my dearest,” 

 

Hamilton promptly thrashed Laurens, though it took himmost of the night. Alex suspected Laurens let him win, purely because they would have been playing well into the morning had his friend not made one fatal error. 

 

“Well, that was quite something, I have to say, you really do match Lafayette for tactical brilliance,” John laughed as he stood, chair scraping against the wood floor. “Well, I think it’s time for me to retire, we’ve a long day ahead tomorrow.” He grasped Alex’s arm on his way out, fingers tracing the line to his shoulder.

 

Alex noticed the slight limp in his friend’s step, a sore reminder of just how close he’d come to loosing him. Alex thought of Laurens like he did an essential part of himself, something that kept him grounded and alive. Laurens was to him like his heart; to lose him mean to no longer live. He chuckled to himself, one day his tendency toward the dramatic would get him killed, he had no doubt. 

 

The realisation hit him like a bullet to the chest. It punched through him with a ferocity akin to a lion, clawing at his heart and soul. _To lose his Laurens was to no longer live._ Did Laurens mean to him more than his own life, and, dare he say it, more than Eliza? Alex reeled back from the table, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He inhaled the familiar scent of home on the shirt, this one had not been out of his trunk. He buried his nose in to the cuff, breathing deeply. This was not how friends thought about one an other. This was not how _men_ thought about other men. It was sodomy, they could get hanged. If there was one thing Hamilton would not do, he would not be the death of his Laurens. 

 

***

 

The next morning dawned bright and dry. There were no clouds in the sky as Alex woke to the light filtering in through the shutters. The quiet of the countryside was almost oppressive in its omnipresence. The only sounds to be heard from outside the house were the tweets of birds, making their presence known in the great expanse that was South Carolina. The shadows cast by the gold rays dappled the walls of his room, shining the light on his eyes and forcing him to awaken out of his almost drunken stupor. The time between fully waking and sleeping was the only time Alex’s brain was switched off enough to allow him conscious but peaceful thought. 

 

He hummed as he swept his arm across his eyes, no, the light would not win that easily. The next thing he knew he was being assaulted. 

 

“Alexander!” John said, sweeping into his room and plopping himself down on the corner of Alex’s bed as though he belonged there _I wish_ thought Alex. “Get up, good God, Alex its almost nine o’clock.” 

 

“My dearest, Laurens, if you do not get out of my room this instant I swear to God, I’ll-“

 

“Fine,” sang Laurens, “Can I stay if I’m quiet?” John pouted, honest to God pouted and held up a book with a slight curve to the left side of his lips. 

 

“If you must,” Alexander rolled over and tried to go back to sleep without thinking of the other man who was currently pressed against his head board, legs stuck out in front of him, shoes clicking together unconsciously. 

 

Alexander slept soundly, _goodness knows he could use it,_ John thought. His friend had deep, dark shadows under his eyes, to the extent that his eyes looked sunken in, corpse like. To John’s delight Alex made small snuffling sounds in his sleep, almost like a puppy. His friend’s stretched out form was most certainly feline; almost feminine in it’s skinniness and his feet were a far cry from the end of the bed. John had to physically concentrate on not stroking his hand through the chocolate curls that spread over the pillow like a siren’s in the sea. John felt himself drowning in his feelings further and further. He wondered how long he could deny himself a taste of his best friend the ‘tomcat’. 

 

Alexander was a having a rather wonderful dream. John was spread out before him, naked as the day he was born, skin perfect like a statue of himself. Art, like Apollo himself was laid out on the bed, a feast, for his eyes alone, for his mouth alone; the tomcat descended on his prey. 

 

“John,” was mumbled in to a pillow, unconsciously, a promise and a mistake all at the same time. 

 

“Alexander?” John whispered, tensing up; it was as though Alexander had read his thoughts, “Alexander, I think you’ve slept enough now.” John placed a hand on his friend’s bare shoulder and shook gently.

 

“I’m awake, what’s for breakfast?” Alex’s thoughts turned to the ache deep in the pits of his stomach. 

 

“Lunch,” John smiled.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s lunch time, my friend,” John looked at Alex with a raised eyebrow and a grin. 

 

Alexander all but jumped out of bed, he was naked from the waist up; John afforded himself a small peek in Alex’s direction. He eyes moved up and down his friend’s exposed body, once. Twice. John blushed before sliding off the other side of bed and walking out of the room muttering something about getting the picnic ready. 

 

***

 

They sat in the shade of a silver birch tree, the leaves rustling over head; an old barn, half collapsing at their backs. John’s legs were straight out in front of him; he had his shoes off, he feet rubbing agains the grass slightly. Alex was cross legged, and if his knee was accidentally brushing the top of John’s thigh, well, he was not going to apologise. He leaned his head back against the wood as John laughed and chattered about nothing really in particular. There was an ease with John that had never been there with Eliza, though he still loved her, but John was here and Eliza was not. Alexander took a long drink from his wine. 

 

“Hamilton? Are you even listening?”

 

“You were saying something about how you beat Lafayette at a drinking game,” Alex waved his hand.

 

“You don’t even look impressed, I am offended,” Laurens cried dramatically. 

 

“Just how many drinks had Lafayette had before the game started?” Alex raised an eyebrow. 

 

“A fair few…” muttered John.

 

“And how many had you?”

 

“…none…” 

 

“Well then, I rest my case,” 

 

“He invited me to France, you know,” John said, nonchalantly, casting a side eyes at Alex to gauge his reaction. 

 

“Oh?” Alex looked down, his hands folding in his lap.

 

“Aye, to recover, from the…” John trailed off, he gestured to his hip.

 

“You didn’t go.”

 

“Evidently, an astute observation,” Laurens deadpanned, his eyes smiling. 

 

“Why not?” Alex was confused, he had known that Laurens loved his time in Europe, the man had confessed that he would love to return for a few years.

 

“I had a hunch you would need me here.”

 

“You had a hunch? You turned down Lafayette because you had a hunch?”

 

“When you put it like that it sounds stupid,” John laughed. 

 

“When you put it any which way it sounds stupid,” Alex countered. 

 

“Truth is, I think I would miss you too much,” he coughed,“I mean, all of it. I have fallen in love with this shit storm of a country.”

 

“I cannot fault you for that, Laurens,” Alex looked at John, the other’s eyes were focussed on the distant hills. 

 

***

 

The letter felt like it was burning through his hands, scorching the skin away, flames eating at his flesh. _Eliza didn’t want to see him._ She wanted nothing to do with him. Alexander couldn't blame her, he’d hurt her in the most horrible way imaginable. Lafayette had sent him a letter, giving him a piece of his mind, so had Hercules. Though the latter had also ended on the note that he would be coming to join them in a few weeks, once his apprenticeship had come to a complete end. 

 

South Carolina was quickly becoming Alexander’s favourite place in America. John had shown him Charleston yesterday, Alex had enjoyed the market and the wide streets with white houses lining them felt like home already. Though the weather was hot and humid, more so than New York, Alex didn't mind so much; he had adapted to it already. 

 

John and him had written mountains of essays, condemning slavery, they piled up upon his desk. The ink on one had not yet dried, Alexander moved his quill across the parchment, the quiet scratching soothing and motivating him at the same time. The door banged open and John walked in.

 

“Do you think men can love?” John asked, sitting in the armchair, examining his ink stained fingers with much interest.

 

“Why would they not? I love Eliza,”

 

“My father always said men didn’t love,” 

 

“Your father is an ignoramus, or whatever you called him,” Alexander smiled, remembering the time John had gotten drunk and written his father a particularly insulting letter.

 

“I thought we were never to mention that again.”

 

“But it was so very amusing, dear Laurens,” Alex quipped, grinning. 

 

“I will never forget his response, I was surprised when he did not disinherit me. That was not my question, though. What I meant was, do you think a man could love another man?” John blushed, red hue creeping his neck.

 

“I do not know my Laurens, reason tells me it is sodomy and wrong, but,” Alex took a breath.“I know that I truly and most tenderly love you. It does not feel wrong. No matter what the law would have me believe,” he didn't look at the other man, instead he gazed resolutely out of the window. He waited for the shouts and screams and rejection, but it did not come.

 

John didn't speak. He sat, straight backed and tense, not taking his eyes off Alex as heat pooled low in his gut. He watched as emotions, unknown to him, passed across his friend’s face. John analysed the lines and contours, features he had found himself falling love with over last fews weeks, or was it years?. He couldn’t actually remember not being in love with Alexander, the man was full of fire and such vitality John had been drawn in like a moth to a flame.

 

“If this is wrong, and I am sure it is,” John sucked in a shaky breath, “Why do I, with all my being, very much want to kiss you right now?”

 

  
“I-“ Alex sagged with relief, his eyes crinkling with a smile that lit his whole face. 

 

“For once in your life, do not speak,” John said as he moved forward and capture Alex’s lips in his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how I did please, I need it to validate myself!!! :D :D


End file.
